*** HARMONIA has joined 710.35.155.17 <HARMONIA> Buongiorno, sorry I missed you. <HARMONIA> I'll happily get back to you as soon as I'm done with whatever business I'm on. <HARMONIA> Please leave a message.
[ Did he introduce himself with his full name before? He doesn't remember. He does that sometimes, both the full name introductions and the not remembering. ]
right, right.
[ To take full responsibility or not to take full responsibility. Riley and Giorno are close as far as he knows, so it can't hurt if he just leans on her involvement a bit, surely. ]
i asked her if it was a good idea, and she didn't say it was a bad one? it was a collaboration.
[That's different, isn't it. As long as it's not some kind of pity thing. Which, some time later, he'll recognize as pretty illogical considering Riley's own situation, but. Some other day that isn't today.]
of course. i just wanted to know if i should brace myself for a big parade of enthusiasm or something. a one-person parade is fine.
good thing she shot down my singing telegram pitch, in that case.
[ Well, Giorno doesn't seem offended.
So far, this is going swell. ]
i've got something else, though. [ Giorno is not Haruno. Steve is attempting to be extremely mindful of that, and so that's why he refers to what's sitting next to his laptop in the vaguest possible manner. ] maybe you can take a look and tell me if you want it?
>>Harrington has posted an IMAGE. If you wish to view, type A4uyGFG.BMP
[ It's a (grainy in quality as one can expect) picture of a beetle-looking thing sitting on a counter. All six legs accounted for. Little pincers. A little bit of an iridescent sheen. There's also a rolled up solar sticking out of a small zipper.
It's a coin purse sewn into the shape of a beetle, albeit simplified a bit. ]
[A probably-worrying amount of time elapses between Steve sending the image and Giorno responding. Like. A solid five minutes.]
[Here's why.]
[Although most of his suspicion is dissuaged by this point, he can't help but be a little confused by the wording, which falls somewhere between "awkward but harmless" and "poorly-worded leadup to a ransom threat" in his mental catalogue. When he opens the image, he figures out exactly where on the scale he can place this, but he also has to slam his laptop closed and walk across the room to perch pensively on the edge of his bed.]
[A moment later, he bites down very hard on his knuckle.]
[In all probability he's been presented with the best coin purse in all of existence, and now he's struck with the problem of having to not be weird about it. The shoe is well and truly on the other root. And the worst part of it is he knows this wasn't Riley. He doesn't know how he knows. He just does.]
[Some deep thought and counting backwards later, he opens his laptop again.]
[ It helps that Steve isn't really in the habit of staring at the screen just waiting and waiting for messages to show up. He finds that bothersome, even if the laptops themselves are convenient. He can't pace with them like he can a phone, so instead he stays busy elsewhere in his apartment during the lulls in communication, only to be summoned back by the signature pinging sound of something being sent.
In distracting himself, he's less prone to the anxieties that arise from not doing that, usually. Tonight is a little bit of an exception, because he's already taken care of dinner, has no chores left to do, and there's nothing good on TV—not that there's ever.
So he's settled for playing a game of toss and catch with the wall.
(It's fine; the apartment directly next door is vacant.)
While he holds his own against said wall over the course of these five minutes, it scores a point on him when that ping! sounds, the ball bouncing into his chest when he turns to look. ]
cool. whenever you wanna take it off my hands, it's yours. i'm 401, same building as riley.
[It's not going to occur to him for a little while yet how careful all of this wording is, how hard Steve is working to avoid saying present, but he does register that the phrasing and circumstances are sort of odd. Is it possible that Steve actually stumbled across something that is such a perfect Giornoesque combination of kitsch, cute, and entomological by accident? Technically yes, but the odds seem on the unlikely side. Not impossible, though.]
[He'll think about it later. Unless he doesn't.]
oh, she didn't give you my address too?
[zing]
if it's not too much trouble, you're welcome to come by. do you know where hill house is? a bit north of the city, still east of lake dala. in a hill.
[You know, like a normal house. Riley liked it here, awkwardness aside, so it seems like a decent enough choice — as well as being much farther from the aesthetic of his life in other-Ryslig as possible.]
[ Calling it a present for Giorno wouldn't be entirely correct, when the only thing his momentarily addled brain would've had to go on were Haruno's tastes. ]
nah, she's not passing out all of your personal information. just some of it.
[ But he knows the area like only a pizza boy who was forced to take on all the weirdest calls can. ]
[ The next day, Steve decides to take his bike out for a spin. Not for old time's sake, but because it's been a rainy week and he doesn't need the company van getting stuck in some leftover muck. The driveability of some of the roads around the lake was questionable enough without the weather coming into play.
If he'd taken that thought just one step further, he wouldn't have worn white shoes.
They look like chocolate-dipped cones by the time he's arrived at Hill House's semblance of a driveway. It had taken some slowing down and—ultimately—walking to spot the odd door in the greenery.
Knock-knock, he supposes.
He doesn't know what to expect, but he's here, with his bike pulled up right next to him—namely because there hadn't been any kind of obvious, practical place to stow it. ]
[This is an unfamiliar situation he’s going to have to navigate, which means that Giorno has A Plan.]
[He always has A Plan when he’s uncertain of how to proceed, and a lot of times when he’s pretty sure he could improvise; after all, it’s better to be prepared. None of this is to say that it’s a good plan, but it’s better than the unknowable void of whatever the hell this would be otherwise. Moreover, he has a goal. So regardless, he’ll be fine.]
[His plan did not account for mud shoes. When he swings the door open, he spots them immediately, and there’s legitimate sorrow in his voice when he says,] Oh no. I didn’t warn you about the water table. It’s unusually high right now. I’m sorry.
[Rip to those shoes. Fashion died here today. Damn. Well.]
You can leave your bike in the hallway if you want. There’s plenty of room. Nobody’s likely to steal it out here, but.
[He shrugs as if to say “we live in a town full of nightmare people whose worst tendencies are exacerbated by changes out of their control, so maybe someone would steal your bike out here, you never know”. Or something along those lines.]
[ The person standing in front of him might be the single greenest thing to have ever dared to be green. There are what look to be tree branches framing him from behind, and his hair is completely made of plants now, but that's Haruno Giorno.
If Steve thought about it—and he's not going to—he'd realize his brain doesn't debate that for even a fraction of a second, despite how much more. Well, one with nature, he's become since the day Steve had to remind himself who Giorno even was at the arcade. The leftover features of a face that's more than just familiar jump straight out at him. ]
I knew there'd be mud. I just wasn't anticipating how much.
[ As if to punctuate that statement, he bangs his heel against the stones of the driveway to try to evict more of it from his soles, but of course that's not going to work. It's mud. It's wet. The treads of his bike tires are in a similar state, brown sludge caked all up in the grooves, plus a finer spatter of the stuff reaching across the frame.
Steve looks at it. ]
Are you sure? I feel like you might regret it if you don't hose it off first. Same goes for me.
[Giorno pauses. There are a few reasons for this. He's trying to sort out which thoughts are his and which are only kind of his, his once removed. It's a strange process. He has a crisp memory-sense that Steve has probably gotten similarly mud-bedraggled fairly often, or else the other one had, but it seems logical that that would be an overlap. Trying his best, but messy.]
[The bigger reason he pumps his mental brakes is that he has to decide whether to shove Steve through the inappropriate joke door he's just accidentally opened or not. Ultimately, he chooses mercy, but with a moderate amount of regret.]
Steve. You just came all the way over here to give me something and ruined your shoes. You're going to have to clean your bike, too. It's only fair, and it's stone floor in there. Just take your shoes off and I'll wipe it up later.
[He steps back from the door and holds it open, pointing inside firmly.]
[ At the sound of his name, Steve's ears swerve forward attentively. For a second, there's a look in his eye as though he's listening to something much more important and interesting than simply being told why his concern is misplaced. Then, he shrugs. ]
Okay.
[ Steve, good enough to pose a thoughtful question once, but boy enough to pass on the "I insist— no, I insist" war. He rolls the bike in, leaving an unseemly streak behind it. The shoes come off, and whether they'll be going back on depends entirely on how long this extension of hospitality he's caught in takes.
So, now he's standing around in his socks, waiting for Giorno to lead him into the uncharted territory that is where he lives on this side of reality. ]
[It is, to be clear, a mess. However, given that Giorno is now officially a plant, he doesn't care about the dirt, and the nonzero number of preteens in Hill House also means this is not the first foyer disaster he's seen in the months he's been here. That's what stone floors are for. He's unfazed.]
[By that part, anyway. The sight of Steve in his socks in the entrance to the effusive main floor is ridiculous enough that he's having to make a concerted effort to keep a straight face. This becomes a lot more difficult when Steve just . . . keeps talking.]
[He lifts his hand up to cover his mouth, fingers crooked over his lips as though he's in very deep thought about something that isn't stifling his own laughter. Not even at anything in particular, just the absurdity of the whole situation, and the bluntness, and it's awkward and stupid, and he just—]
[He's not laughing. He absolutely isn't. He sets his shoulders back, clears his throat, and does something . . . frankly remarkable.]
That depends. Do you mind staying a while, or were you hoping to hand it over and then flee?
[ While Giorno has his whole thought process, Steve spends a moment taking everything other than him in with unmasked judgment: the warps in the walls that truly serve no purpose besides making him wonder if he's drunk, the bubbles of multi-colored glass that are probably the most agreeable part of it all, and the walkways that look like paths through a garden mostly because that's legitimately what they are.
When he pries his eyes from their frankly cartoonish surroundings to look back at his host, his tone is gently ribbing. ]
You know, I have pretty good hearing.
[ Not to say that Giorno's careful maneuver let any laughter slip through, but the image of him with a hand placed over his mouth just so invites suspicion. Maybe once upon a time that isn't this one, he wasn't so successful. Steve carries on to give the place one more quick look-see, and his opinion hasn't changed: ]
Honestly, this room is so weird, I think I need to see the rest.
[Hm. He presses his lips together, not-smiling.] Good for you. I'm pretty good at keeping quiet.
[Which isn't the point. Steve knows what he's up to because he has cheat codes. It should be more annoying than it is, which is maybe five percent. He does wonder why this doesn't feel as threatening as it did with Riley, given that they have the same information. Maybe it's the deliberate way Steve has been proceeding, or the fact that here there's less to lose, or the tension of his and Riley's too-alikeness.]
[Maybe it's because he's got cheat codes, too. Either way, it's obvious this is the answer he wanted to hear, because he does allow himself to smile after all.]
Then later is fine. Come on.
[No points for guessing where he's taking them: it's the garden, because of course there is one. It's not far from the front entrance in the grand scheme of how big Hill House is overall, and as they pass other doors and halls it becomes clear the place resembles an expansive, well-lit warren more than anything else. The path from the front door transitions smoothly to the garden, vegetation cropping up on either side until suddenly the path is replaced by cobblestones and everything is green. Daylight creeps in through what look like bubbles in the ceiling. The moment they cross the barely-perceptible threshold, Giorno's smile widens, and he hums, seeming instantly more relaxed.]
[There's a short, bushy tree in one corner, which also contains a messy patch of vibrantly-colored plants. He makes a beeline for it and, eschewing the perfectly reasonable adjacent stone bench, just sits down cross-legged in the roots of the tree.]
[ From down there, Giorno will have an excellent vantage of Steve looking one-hundred percent unsure of what it is he should be doing next. This goes against a script he's very used to. Then again, every other time he's been a visitor in someone else's home, they've always had a couch and a coffee table and a refrigerator five feet away they could offer him a bottle of coke from. ]
Another nymph told me that looking at flowers is a lot like looking at baby animals.
[ By that logic, that might make what Giorno's doing with this shrub the equivalent of cuddling up next to the family dog. He can confirm or deny that statement if he wants, but he definitely looks like he's just gotten the same dose of happiness people get when they play with the new litters at Poundmates. ]
I think most people wish they could have a room full of baby animals.
[ After checking his wristwatch, Steve also ignores the bench in favor of the old saying monkey see, monkey do. Though, it probably would have benefited him to at least brace against it while taking off his socks and rolling up his jeans, instead of hopping from foot to foot and performing one whole balancing act. Then, he picks a warm patch of sunlit grass to step into, off of the comparatively cold cobbles, and... sits?
[It would have been perfectly feasible for Giorno to go the couch and coffee table route. That choice is open to him at any time. It just isn't one he's ever taken, even before his extreme plantification. There's a connection to be made between this fact and the momentary bemusement clear across his face at the idea that—]
Oh. Is that a nymph thing? It's not really . . . new, for me.
[Is that unusual? This part of it hasn't changed. If he'd had access to something like this garden at home, he'd have spent time there every day. There's a safety, a homeyness in it that feels like a part of him. He brought Riley here out of a sense of joy and a desire to share; there's some of that with Steve, too, but his sense of being wrong-footed is part of it, too. If he sits with this tree he helped to grow, roots touching dirt, he doesn't worry as much about things.]
[The setting doesn't quite manage to squelch the feeling of hurt, not really his, at Steve's glance at his watch. That shows, too, quick but not quick enough, and as he chases it off of his face and out of his mind he reminds himself he has nothing to worry about.]
[Then Steve hops around fighting his socks for a bit, which helps. As he finally sits, Giorno cocks his head, observing maybe a bit too closely.]
We do have baby animals. One or the other of them should be along shortly. [Shoulders pressed back against the trunk of the tree, he hums before abruptly shifting gears.] I can't tell if you're uncomfortable or just confused. I can tell some things more easily now, but not that. It's strange. But I don't want you to be uncomfortable.
[This is . . . one of those things. Something Haruno would have expressed, but not so clumsily, not in the same slightly-off way, like someone practicing casual conversation and hitting the edge of the target instead of the bullseye.]
[ He's a little more careful not to jam his hand into anything that's trying to grow, both of them falling backwards to prop him up at a slight recline. Ditto, when he stretches his legs out in front of him. Just as he's gotten cozy, his head tilts like his neck has a loose screw.
Haruno had some eccentricities, so it stands to reason that Giorno would have them, too. Kind of a surprise, though, that the one with the better sense of style is so far turning out to be the more awkward of the two. ]
Oh. [ Yet, it doesn't matter how unusually stated it is, Giorno's just said something that makes Steve feel the need to run his mouth. Realization overtaking his expression, he points to his watch. ] Oh, I don't have anywhere else to be. That was for, uh— For an hour-ish every day, I can change my body back to the way it was before, almost.
[ Isn't it interesting that his floppy ears are the only inhuman thing about him at the moment? When he's definitely been here for months, and months, and months since he first "ran" into Giorno during Nattensfest? ]
I'm about to go all rabbit-y again in a minute here, so that made it easy to decide whether I should ditch the socks, and then that made it easy to decide if I should try walking on the grass, too.
[ Which brings him to his last point— ]
I don't know what rules you've got around here. Yeah, I could've just asked, but I also didn't want to be super formal? That's what you do for people's parents, not—
[ He gestures at his host, who's even younger than he is—if that wasn't another detail that got fudged up when they were brainwashed. Anyway, there Giorno has it, Steve's entire thought process helpfully if haphazardly laid out. He doesn't want him to be uncomfortable, either. ]
[The benefit to Steve of Giorno's particular brand of awkwardness is that, at least this time, he doesn't seem to register that his guest is babbling. Rather, he pays careful attention to everything Steve says with the air of someone prepared at any moment to take notes. There's a flicker of embarrassment at the clarification about the time check — was he really that obvious? — but more than anything, his expression just reflects growing clarity.]
[How many pairs of socks has Steve ruined before coming to understand how to track his timing properly? A question to ask later. He absently registers the note about formality, too. That's right, that was a difference in the other place, too: even though Haruno was much more comfortable with people than he is, there was still a gulf in the way they dealt with people. Formality versus familiarity. Steffan just . . . became friends with people sometimes simply by deciding to. That's what he tried with Haruno, and it halfway worked, despite him choosing such a cagey mark.]
[This all reminds him of something. Is it important? . . . Probably. He doesn't want to be misunderstood. It matters, even if he's not certain why yet.]
Thank you. For being thoughtful about all of that, and for explaining. I don't . . . really know of any rules that would be relevant anyway. More than anything, I think . . .
[Hm. He tucks a wisp of hair behind his ear, eyes raising to the ceiling as he thinks.]
Riley told me I can be . . . cryptic. That's the word she used. I didn't know before she told me, but I've tried to be more careful since then. Still, if that happens and you wouldn't mind telling me when it does, I'd appreciate it. It upset her, and I don't want to upset you.
[It's incredibly blunt, almost childlike in the way he expresses how difficult it is for him to talk to people in a neutral way. He wonders how this conversation would have gone if he hadn't spoken to Riley first. It probably wouldn't have gone at all. He's riding a strange wave of serenity, or perhaps simple overstimulation, at the way Riley took the truth of him and held it like any other secret revealed. That makes this so much easier.]
[At least for him. His wide green gaze descends upon Steve again.]
You were kind to me in that other place, and I know it's the same here because of Riley. I can't say for sure, since I don't know much about you, but you seem very . . . normal? I can't think of a better word. But I'd like to know you, if I can find a way to be a little more . . .
[Normal? Comprehensible? Haruno?]
. . . communicative.
[At the very least he's currently leaning heavily on that, even if normal is taking a backseat.]
[ Only half the great listener that wisteria-boy is, Steve tries his best to keep up.
...This is like that thing people say about coming home and finding all of the furniture slightly rearranged, but a person. It's clearly going to take stubbing his toe on the dresser he's not used to being so close to the doorway a few times before he gets a sense of where everything is again. Not that Giorno is his person the way his home is his home, or anything like that.
He sighs gently, and then follows it up with an airy little laugh like the guy's just told him something funny. It is funny, that being someone whose routine was mostly rolling out of bed to go scoop rocky road for children every morning makes him remarkable, right after he spent his last few months in Hawkins feeling pretty not that. Not haha funny, but funny. ]
Listen, I know. And I know that makes me the odd man out around here.
[ Lila is intense, untrusting in way that has him seriously thinking whatever problems she's had to face in her life are much worse than a bad date, or detention, or getting grounded by her parents. He's pretty sure whatever crazy alternate past Cersei comes from holds public executions daily. Komaeda and his classmates seem normal, but sometimes there's some odd phrasing or a comment that slips out that makes him frankly afraid to ask the truth. It's Riley who's actually in the lead for the most normal person he's met, but her home life just wasn't great. Everybody's been through so much shit. ]
Another friend of mine grew up on a planet that sounds a lot like that movie with a bunch of crazy people wearing garbage and like, driving cars through a desert? I think there's been two of them, actually? [ He is, for the record, talking about Mad Max. ] Anyway, her social skills are kinda clunky, so I invite her along whenever I'm up to something she might like.
[ His eyebrows take on a concerned bend. ]
Is that something that would help you? Is that something you'd want?
[Briefly stymied by the movie reference, which is frankly one of his dump stats, he squints at Steve in confusion for a few moments, falling behind the flow of the conversation. It sounds like an art film. He doesn't remember anything like that, although he's also struggling to pull forth any movies in particular that even take place in a desert. He's about to ask, even, when he realizes exactly what it is he almost missed, and his eyes open wide again.]
[It's not that he thinks it's a trick. He really doesn't. He couldn't explain why, not logically, because he knows that Steve and Steffan are not the same, and by the end Haruno's trust in Steffan was a complicated thing anyway. The combination of that and his own natural distrust of others should combine to create a healthy uncertainty about this offer.]
[Somehow, though, it just doesn't. He can't look at Steve right now and see what he's saying as anything other than painfully genuine. This is just . . . something that someone like Steve, a very normal person, is offering to him, someone whose social skills are, yes, "kinda clunky". That's pretty accurate. And he's just willing to do that. And Giorno can't find anything within himself that questions it.]
[Why is that? There has to be a reason. It isn't just Riley's trust in Steve, it isn't just Haruno's experiences. There's something else. He just can't put his finger on what. At the same time, he can't do the polite thing (the deflecting thing) where he double-checks to make sure, to try to find a hole in the answer, to wiggle out of it. He can't, he won't, he doesn't want to. In fact, he feels a little mutinous in response to even the thought.]
[Instead of all of that—]
Yes.
[Yes, it's something that would help. Yes, it's something he wants. As he says it, he realizes that he wants that a lot. It's not something he's . . . ever had, really.]
I don't know if it's something I can provide in exchange. I don't do much other than work. [And be outside, but not in a purposeful way, just sort of. Outside. Still.] But if that's all right, then yes. [A crooked, toothy sort of smile appears, then. He doesn't take responsibility for it.] Do you get up to things I might like?
[ Steve suddenly makes a noise that sounds like "da." In Russian that would be yes, but here it's the sound of him starting to talk only to immediately put on the verbal brakes. He takes a moment to size up the grinning nymph in front of him, a long one.
All signs point to Steve not having thought things through this far.
Haruno at his most default state wasn't a sports fan. Whether that carried over, it's too early to say, but if he was the same insect nerd that Giorno is... and Steffan was really into basketball, then it may be safe to say that their basic interests stayed pretty much intact. And now that they're not... dating... said basic interests could very well be back to square one incongruent. ]
Have you ever heard of Nai'a Nights?
[ ...is what he ultimately chooses to lead with. The waitresses are cute, Maya lets him order off the cocktail menu when girls named Riley don't call ahead to get his privileges revoked, and the food's not bad, either. ]
I hang out there sometimes. It's- [ Hold on. ] Actually, better question, do you drink?
[ Riley's also taught him that this is an important factor to consider before assuming how much someone will enjoy something. ]
[Thank god for Riley, because without her this whole interaction would be a nonstarter. Never mind her criminal behavior in not letting Steve drink at will. Even Riley has her limits. Hilariously, she's never tattled on Giorno, although whether that's because bossiness duties for sisters are higher than for friends or because she's got no illusions that she'd actually be able to stop him is up for debate.]
[Regardless, the point is: this is a win for Steve, because Giorno lights up immediately. He even goes so far as to straighten up from his trunk-lounge.]
Mmhm, I like it there. Maya made a chocolate thing in February, I was there for most of the month. It—
[Wait, hold on, back up. Navigating back to the part where Steve was still talking when he stopped listening. Does he drink? After leaving his mouth open for a moment, he snaps it closed and nods.]
Yes. [Haruno did, too, but only with some persuasion. Which is a good point, actually. He presses his soles together and flattens his legs out until the sides of his knees touch the grass, butterfly-pose.] More than — you know. Overall, it would be fair for you to assume that I'm less concerned about following rules.
[Which. Is a thing, since Haruno wasn't very concerned about that at all. He considers bringing up the thing Riley said — that Haruno was sweet, and the issue he took with that — but after a brief moment of crawling mortification, decides not to bring it up.]
[ Oh, thank god. Riley and Giorno are close friends, but he's not dealing with Riley Williams, second edition. He would only say this in private, in company that he trusts not to love her any less for it, but she can really be the anti-buzz sometimes. ]
That's perfect.
[ Steve claps his hands together, then points at Giorno with both of them. It's a lot of enthusiasm for a serene garden setting, but this is all he knows how to be. ]
Hello, new drinking buddy!
[ This is good, a starting point. There's still the matter of figuring out literally anywhere else that's up both their alleys besides an already well-known and beloved hangout for monsters, but he can workshop that as he goes.
For now? Crisis averted.
He doesn't react to his legs beginning to—put lightly—wig out from the ankle down. Flesh squishes and stretches like taffy, and brown fur sprouts over plain pink skin like a time lapse of grass growing. In seconds, Steve is back to having dumb teeth, bulky claws, and a pair of giant rabbit kickers, the entire process apparently painless.
Ultimately, he only notices because his hands are still in front of him, holding that same pointing pose. He gives his fingers a wriggle. ] Ah, told you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
<Harrington>
right, right.
[ To take full responsibility or not to take full responsibility. Riley and Giorno are close as far as he knows, so it can't hurt if he just leans on her involvement a bit, surely. ]
i asked her if it was a good idea, and she didn't say it was a bad one? it was a collaboration.
is that okay?
<harmonia>
[Well.]
[That's different, isn't it. As long as it's not some kind of pity thing. Which, some time later, he'll recognize as pretty illogical considering Riley's own situation, but. Some other day that isn't today.]
of course. i just wanted to know if i should brace myself for a big parade of enthusiasm or something. a one-person parade is fine.
[Joke??? Joke time? Is he crushing it.]
thank you. really. you're very thoughtful.
<Harrington>
[ Well, Giorno doesn't seem offended.
So far, this is going swell. ]
i've got something else, though. [ Giorno is not Haruno. Steve is attempting to be extremely mindful of that, and so that's why he refers to what's sitting next to his laptop in the vaguest possible manner. ] maybe you can take a look and tell me if you want it?
>>Harrington has posted an IMAGE. If you wish to view, type A4uyGFG.BMP
[ It's a (grainy in quality as one can expect) picture of a beetle-looking thing sitting on a counter. All six legs accounted for. Little pincers. A little bit of an iridescent sheen. There's also a rolled up solar sticking out of a small zipper.
It's a coin purse sewn into the shape of a beetle, albeit simplified a bit. ]
<harmonia>
[Here's why.]
[Although most of his suspicion is dissuaged by this point, he can't help but be a little confused by the wording, which falls somewhere between "awkward but harmless" and "poorly-worded leadup to a ransom threat" in his mental catalogue. When he opens the image, he figures out exactly where on the scale he can place this, but he also has to slam his laptop closed and walk across the room to perch pensively on the edge of his bed.]
[A moment later, he bites down very hard on his knuckle.]
[In all probability he's been presented with the best coin purse in all of existence, and now he's struck with the problem of having to not be weird about it. The shoe is well and truly on the other root. And the worst part of it is he knows this wasn't Riley. He doesn't know how he knows. He just does.]
[Some deep thought and counting backwards later, he opens his laptop again.]
yes
please
<Harrington>
In distracting himself, he's less prone to the anxieties that arise from not doing that, usually. Tonight is a little bit of an exception, because he's already taken care of dinner, has no chores left to do, and there's nothing good on TV—not that there's ever.
So he's settled for playing a game of toss and catch with the wall.
(It's fine; the apartment directly next door is vacant.)
While he holds his own against said wall over the course of these five minutes, it scores a point on him when that ping! sounds, the ball bouncing into his chest when he turns to look. ]
cool.
whenever you wanna take it off my hands, it's yours.
i'm 401, same building as riley.
or i can come to you.
though you'd have to tell me where you live.
<harmonia>
[He'll think about it later. Unless he doesn't.]
oh, she didn't give you my address too?
[zing]
if it's not too much trouble, you're welcome to come by. do you know where hill house is? a bit north of the city, still east of lake dala. in a hill.
[You know, like a normal house. Riley liked it here, awkwardness aside, so it seems like a decent enough choice — as well as being much farther from the aesthetic of his life in other-Ryslig as possible.]
<Harrington>
nah, she's not passing out all of your personal information.
just some of it.
[ But he knows the area like only a pizza boy who was forced to take on all the weirdest calls can. ]
i can swing by tomorrow around noon-ish.
<harmonia>
that's fine. i don't have anywhere else to be [that is more important than acquisition of Beetlepurse.]
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If he'd taken that thought just one step further, he wouldn't have worn white shoes.
They look like chocolate-dipped cones by the time he's arrived at Hill House's semblance of a driveway. It had taken some slowing down and—ultimately—walking to spot the odd door in the greenery.
Knock-knock, he supposes.
He doesn't know what to expect, but he's here, with his bike pulled up right next to him—namely because there hadn't been any kind of obvious, practical place to stow it. ]
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[He always has A Plan when he’s uncertain of how to proceed, and a lot of times when he’s pretty sure he could improvise; after all, it’s better to be prepared. None of this is to say that it’s a good plan, but it’s better than the unknowable void of whatever the hell this would be otherwise. Moreover, he has a goal. So regardless, he’ll be fine.]
[His plan did not account for mud shoes. When he swings the door open, he spots them immediately, and there’s legitimate sorrow in his voice when he says,] Oh no. I didn’t warn you about the water table. It’s unusually high right now. I’m sorry.
[Rip to those shoes. Fashion died here today. Damn. Well.]
You can leave your bike in the hallway if you want. There’s plenty of room. Nobody’s likely to steal it out here, but.
[He shrugs as if to say “we live in a town full of nightmare people whose worst tendencies are exacerbated by changes out of their control, so maybe someone would steal your bike out here, you never know”. Or something along those lines.]
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HarunoGiorno.If Steve thought about it—and he's not going to—he'd realize his brain doesn't debate that for even a fraction of a second, despite how much more. Well, one with nature, he's become since the day Steve had to remind himself who Giorno even was at the arcade. The leftover features of a face that's more than just familiar jump straight out at him. ]
I knew there'd be mud. I just wasn't anticipating how much.
[ As if to punctuate that statement, he bangs his heel against the stones of the driveway to try to evict more of it from his soles, but of course that's not going to work. It's mud. It's wet. The treads of his bike tires are in a similar state, brown sludge caked all up in the grooves, plus a finer spatter of the stuff reaching across the frame.
Steve looks at it. ]
Are you sure? I feel like you might regret it if you don't hose it off first. Same goes for me.
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[The bigger reason he pumps his mental brakes is that he has to decide whether to shove Steve through the inappropriate joke door he's just accidentally opened or not. Ultimately, he chooses mercy, but with a moderate amount of regret.]
Steve. You just came all the way over here to give me something and ruined your shoes. You're going to have to clean your bike, too. It's only fair, and it's stone floor in there. Just take your shoes off and I'll wipe it up later.
[He steps back from the door and holds it open, pointing inside firmly.]
In.
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Okay.
[ Steve, good enough to pose a thoughtful question once, but boy enough to pass on the "I insist— no, I insist" war. He rolls the bike in, leaving an unseemly streak behind it. The shoes come off, and whether they'll be going back on depends entirely on how long this extension of hospitality he's caught in takes.
So, now he's standing around in his socks, waiting for Giorno to lead him into the uncharted territory that is where he lives on this side of reality. ]
Do you want it now, or later?
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[By that part, anyway. The sight of Steve in his socks in the entrance to the effusive main floor is ridiculous enough that he's having to make a concerted effort to keep a straight face. This becomes a lot more difficult when Steve just . . . keeps talking.]
[He lifts his hand up to cover his mouth, fingers crooked over his lips as though he's in very deep thought about something that isn't stifling his own laughter. Not even at anything in particular, just the absurdity of the whole situation, and the bluntness, and it's awkward and stupid, and he just—]
[He's not laughing. He absolutely isn't. He sets his shoulders back, clears his throat, and does something . . . frankly remarkable.]
That depends. Do you mind staying a while, or were you hoping to hand it over and then flee?
[Abandoning The Plan? This far in? Seems fake.]
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When he pries his eyes from their frankly cartoonish surroundings to look back at his host, his tone is gently ribbing. ]
You know, I have pretty good hearing.
[ Not to say that Giorno's careful maneuver let any laughter slip through, but the image of him with a hand placed over his mouth just so invites suspicion. Maybe once upon a time that isn't this one, he wasn't so successful. Steve carries on to give the place one more quick look-see, and his opinion hasn't changed: ]
Honestly, this room is so weird, I think I need to see the rest.
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[Which isn't the point. Steve knows what he's up to because he has cheat codes. It should be more annoying than it is, which is maybe five percent. He does wonder why this doesn't feel as threatening as it did with Riley, given that they have the same information. Maybe it's the deliberate way Steve has been proceeding, or the fact that here there's less to lose, or the tension of his and Riley's too-alikeness.]
[Maybe it's because he's got cheat codes, too. Either way, it's obvious this is the answer he wanted to hear, because he does allow himself to smile after all.]
Then later is fine. Come on.
[No points for guessing where he's taking them: it's the garden, because of course there is one. It's not far from the front entrance in the grand scheme of how big Hill House is overall, and as they pass other doors and halls it becomes clear the place resembles an expansive, well-lit warren more than anything else. The path from the front door transitions smoothly to the garden, vegetation cropping up on either side until suddenly the path is replaced by cobblestones and everything is green. Daylight creeps in through what look like bubbles in the ceiling. The moment they cross the barely-perceptible threshold, Giorno's smile widens, and he hums, seeming instantly more relaxed.]
[There's a short, bushy tree in one corner, which also contains a messy patch of vibrantly-colored plants. He makes a beeline for it and, eschewing the perfectly reasonable adjacent stone bench, just sits down cross-legged in the roots of the tree.]
Tada. Comparatively weirder, or less weird?
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Another nymph told me that looking at flowers is a lot like looking at baby animals.
[ By that logic, that might make what Giorno's doing with this shrub the equivalent of cuddling up next to the family dog. He can confirm or deny that statement if he wants, but he definitely looks like he's just gotten the same dose of happiness people get when they play with the new litters at Poundmates. ]
I think most people wish they could have a room full of baby animals.
[ After checking his wristwatch, Steve also ignores the bench in favor of the old saying monkey see, monkey do. Though, it probably would have benefited him to at least brace against it while taking off his socks and rolling up his jeans, instead of hopping from foot to foot and performing one whole balancing act. Then, he picks a warm patch of sunlit grass to step into, off of the comparatively cold cobbles, and... sits?
Is this what they're doing now, sitting???? ]
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Oh. Is that a nymph thing? It's not really . . . new, for me.
[Is that unusual? This part of it hasn't changed. If he'd had access to something like this garden at home, he'd have spent time there every day. There's a safety, a homeyness in it that feels like a part of him. He brought Riley here out of a sense of joy and a desire to share; there's some of that with Steve, too, but his sense of being wrong-footed is part of it, too. If he sits with this tree he helped to grow, roots touching dirt, he doesn't worry as much about things.]
[The setting doesn't quite manage to squelch the feeling of hurt, not really his, at Steve's glance at his watch. That shows, too, quick but not quick enough, and as he chases it off of his face and out of his mind he reminds himself he has nothing to worry about.]
[Then Steve hops around fighting his socks for a bit, which helps. As he finally sits, Giorno cocks his head, observing maybe a bit too closely.]
We do have baby animals. One or the other of them should be along shortly. [Shoulders pressed back against the trunk of the tree, he hums before abruptly shifting gears.] I can't tell if you're uncomfortable or just confused. I can tell some things more easily now, but not that. It's strange. But I don't want you to be uncomfortable.
[This is . . . one of those things. Something Haruno would have expressed, but not so clumsily, not in the same slightly-off way, like someone practicing casual conversation and hitting the edge of the target instead of the bullseye.]
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Haruno had some eccentricities, so it stands to reason that Giorno would have them, too. Kind of a surprise, though, that the one with the better sense of style is so far turning out to be the more awkward of the two. ]
Oh. [ Yet, it doesn't matter how unusually stated it is, Giorno's just said something that makes Steve feel the need to run his mouth. Realization overtaking his expression, he points to his watch. ] Oh, I don't have anywhere else to be. That was for, uh— For an hour-ish every day, I can change my body back to the way it was before, almost.
[ Isn't it interesting that his floppy ears are the only inhuman thing about him at the moment? When he's definitely been here for months, and months, and months since he first "ran" into Giorno during Nattensfest? ]
I'm about to go all rabbit-y again in a minute here, so that made it easy to decide whether I should ditch the socks, and then that made it easy to decide if I should try walking on the grass, too.
[ Which brings him to his last point— ]
I don't know what rules you've got around here. Yeah, I could've just asked, but I also didn't want to be super formal? That's what you do for people's parents, not—
[ He gestures at his host, who's even younger than he is—if that wasn't another detail that got fudged up when they were brainwashed. Anyway, there Giorno has it, Steve's entire thought process helpfully if haphazardly laid out. He doesn't want him to be uncomfortable, either. ]
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[How many pairs of socks has Steve ruined before coming to understand how to track his timing properly? A question to ask later. He absently registers the note about formality, too. That's right, that was a difference in the other place, too: even though Haruno was much more comfortable with people than he is, there was still a gulf in the way they dealt with people. Formality versus familiarity. Steffan just . . . became friends with people sometimes simply by deciding to. That's what he tried with Haruno, and it halfway worked, despite him choosing such a cagey mark.]
[This all reminds him of something. Is it important? . . . Probably. He doesn't want to be misunderstood. It matters, even if he's not certain why yet.]
Thank you. For being thoughtful about all of that, and for explaining. I don't . . . really know of any rules that would be relevant anyway. More than anything, I think . . .
[Hm. He tucks a wisp of hair behind his ear, eyes raising to the ceiling as he thinks.]
Riley told me I can be . . . cryptic. That's the word she used. I didn't know before she told me, but I've tried to be more careful since then. Still, if that happens and you wouldn't mind telling me when it does, I'd appreciate it. It upset her, and I don't want to upset you.
[It's incredibly blunt, almost childlike in the way he expresses how difficult it is for him to talk to people in a neutral way. He wonders how this conversation would have gone if he hadn't spoken to Riley first. It probably wouldn't have gone at all. He's riding a strange wave of serenity, or perhaps simple overstimulation, at the way Riley took the truth of him and held it like any other secret revealed. That makes this so much easier.]
[At least for him. His wide green gaze descends upon Steve again.]
You were kind to me in that other place, and I know it's the same here because of Riley. I can't say for sure, since I don't know much about you, but you seem very . . . normal? I can't think of a better word. But I'd like to know you, if I can find a way to be a little more . . .
[Normal? Comprehensible? Haruno?]
. . . communicative.
[At the very least he's currently leaning heavily on that, even if normal is taking a backseat.]
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...This is like that thing people say about coming home and finding all of the furniture slightly rearranged, but a person. It's clearly going to take stubbing his toe on the dresser he's not used to being so close to the doorway a few times before he gets a sense of where everything is again. Not that Giorno is his person the way his home is his home, or anything like that.
He sighs gently, and then follows it up with an airy little laugh like the guy's just told him something funny. It is funny, that being someone whose routine was mostly rolling out of bed to go scoop rocky road for children every morning makes him remarkable, right after he spent his last few months in Hawkins feeling pretty not that. Not haha funny, but funny. ]
Listen, I know. And I know that makes me the odd man out around here.
[ Lila is intense, untrusting in way that has him seriously thinking whatever problems she's had to face in her life are much worse than a bad date, or detention, or getting grounded by her parents. He's pretty sure whatever crazy alternate past Cersei comes from holds public executions daily. Komaeda and his classmates seem normal, but sometimes there's some odd phrasing or a comment that slips out that makes him frankly afraid to ask the truth. It's Riley who's actually in the lead for the most normal person he's met, but her home life just wasn't great. Everybody's been through so much shit. ]
Another friend of mine grew up on a planet that sounds a lot like that movie with a bunch of crazy people wearing garbage and like, driving cars through a desert? I think there's been two of them, actually? [ He is, for the record, talking about Mad Max. ] Anyway, her social skills are kinda clunky, so I invite her along whenever I'm up to something she might like.
[ His eyebrows take on a concerned bend. ]
Is that something that would help you? Is that something you'd want?
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[It's not that he thinks it's a trick. He really doesn't. He couldn't explain why, not logically, because he knows that Steve and Steffan are not the same, and by the end Haruno's trust in Steffan was a complicated thing anyway. The combination of that and his own natural distrust of others should combine to create a healthy uncertainty about this offer.]
[Somehow, though, it just doesn't. He can't look at Steve right now and see what he's saying as anything other than painfully genuine. This is just . . . something that someone like Steve, a very normal person, is offering to him, someone whose social skills are, yes, "kinda clunky". That's pretty accurate. And he's just willing to do that. And Giorno can't find anything within himself that questions it.]
[Why is that? There has to be a reason. It isn't just Riley's trust in Steve, it isn't just Haruno's experiences. There's something else. He just can't put his finger on what. At the same time, he can't do the polite thing (the deflecting thing) where he double-checks to make sure, to try to find a hole in the answer, to wiggle out of it. He can't, he won't, he doesn't want to. In fact, he feels a little mutinous in response to even the thought.]
[Instead of all of that—]
Yes.
[Yes, it's something that would help. Yes, it's something he wants. As he says it, he realizes that he wants that a lot. It's not something he's . . . ever had, really.]
I don't know if it's something I can provide in exchange. I don't do much other than work. [And be outside, but not in a purposeful way, just sort of. Outside. Still.] But if that's all right, then yes. [A crooked, toothy sort of smile appears, then. He doesn't take responsibility for it.] Do you get up to things I might like?
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All signs point to Steve not having thought things through this far.
Haruno at his most default state wasn't a sports fan. Whether that carried over, it's too early to say, but if he was the same insect nerd that Giorno is... and Steffan was really into basketball, then it may be safe to say that their basic interests stayed pretty much intact. And now that they're not... dating... said basic interests could very well be back to square one incongruent. ]
Have you ever heard of Nai'a Nights?
[ ...is what he ultimately chooses to lead with. The waitresses are cute, Maya lets him order off the cocktail menu when girls named Riley don't call ahead to get his privileges revoked, and the food's not bad, either. ]
I hang out there sometimes. It's- [ Hold on. ] Actually, better question, do you drink?
[ Riley's also taught him that this is an important factor to consider before assuming how much someone will enjoy something. ]
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[Regardless, the point is: this is a win for Steve, because Giorno lights up immediately. He even goes so far as to straighten up from his trunk-lounge.]
Mmhm, I like it there. Maya made a chocolate thing in February, I was there for most of the month. It—
[Wait, hold on, back up. Navigating back to the part where Steve was still talking when he stopped listening. Does he drink? After leaving his mouth open for a moment, he snaps it closed and nods.]
Yes. [Haruno did, too, but only with some persuasion. Which is a good point, actually. He presses his soles together and flattens his legs out until the sides of his knees touch the grass, butterfly-pose.] More than — you know. Overall, it would be fair for you to assume that I'm less concerned about following rules.
[Which. Is a thing, since Haruno wasn't very concerned about that at all. He considers bringing up the thing Riley said — that Haruno was sweet, and the issue he took with that — but after a brief moment of crawling mortification, decides not to bring it up.]
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That's perfect.
[ Steve claps his hands together, then points at Giorno with both of them. It's a lot of enthusiasm for a serene garden setting, but this is all he knows how to be. ]
Hello, new drinking buddy!
[ This is good, a starting point. There's still the matter of figuring out literally anywhere else that's up both their alleys besides an already well-known and beloved hangout for monsters, but he can workshop that as he goes.
For now? Crisis averted.
He doesn't react to his legs beginning to—put lightly—wig out from the ankle down. Flesh squishes and stretches like taffy, and brown fur sprouts over plain pink skin like a time lapse of grass growing. In seconds, Steve is back to having dumb teeth, bulky claws, and a pair of giant rabbit kickers, the entire process apparently painless.
Ultimately, he only notices because his hands are still in front of him, holding that same pointing pose. He gives his fingers a wriggle. ] Ah, told you.
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